


The Perils of Rock'n'Roll Decadence

by Enfilade



Series: On My Dark and Lonely Side [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, Awkward Sexual Situations, M/M, Music, Oral Sex, Robots, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deathsaurus's attempt at mood music falls flat, and Tarn's idea of something better has unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perils of Rock'n'Roll Decadence

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born out of a conversation with redredribbons in which we decided that, in contrast to Tarn's taste in music (the Empyrean Suite and other examples of Cybertron's canon of exquisite classical music, as played by the Vosian Symphony Orchestra), Deathsaurus's favourite band is probably something like Space Nickelback.
> 
> He must also have something much like Guns 'n Roses in his collection too, from whom I took the title (from the song "Pretty Tied Up.")
> 
> Song aside, there is unfortunately no one tied up in this fic but there IS alt mode sex involving Deathsaurus's creature mode. Not bestiality because Deathsaurus is sapient and consenting, but if the animal shape is a dealbreaker for you, give this one a miss.
> 
> Canonically part of "On My Dark And Lonely Side" and now numbered according to its place in the timeline.

The Perils of Rock ‘n’ Roll Decadence

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Deathsaurus whispered in Tarn's audio.

Tarn was not sure what constituted a _surprise_ in Deathsaurus’s definition. Tarn was already rather surprised to find himself on his back on Deathsaurus’s berth instead of in his office, reading performance reports on the Warworld’s newly upgraded offensive capabilities. Tarn wasn’t used to ending up in bed with someone when he ought to be working.

 _Well, what did you think would happen? You_ could _have taken the_ direct _route to your office, but_ no _, you took the_ long way around.

Not to mention that he’d knocked on Deathsaurus’s door when he hadn’t found it open.

Tarn admitted to himself that he’d been hoping to get Deathsaurus’s attention, but _really_ , attention did not need to equal an extended fragging session. Did it?

 _What are you doing_? Tarn had asked Deathsaurus. A perfectly innocuous question.

 _You, hopefully_. Deathsaurus had eyed Tarn up and down and waited for a response.

Tarn supposed he could have reacted in some other way than reaching out and grabbing his cheeky subcommander’s waist, but at any rate, here he was on Deathsaurus’s berth. There was nothing to do but make the best of it, by which he meant _shamelessly indulge himself_. So far, Deathsaurus had been more than helpful in that regard.

But what kind of _surprise_ did Deathsaurus mean?

Tarn raised an optic ridge, but when Deathsaurus continued to grin down at him and wait, Tarn remembered that Deathsaurus couldn’t see his inquisitive expression behind his mask. Tarn made an inquisitive _sound_ , and that got the idea across.

Deathsaurus’s grin widened as he reached over to his end table and picked up a remote. “I got that song of yours,” he said, looking eminently pleased with himself as he pressed a button and the opening notes of the Empyrean Suite spilled from the rather battered speakers mounted on Deathsaurus’s walls.

Tarn’s spark clenched with horror.

And _not_ just because Deathsaurus’s stereo didn’t produce the same sound quality as his own.

Deathsaurus purred and began licking the side of Tarn’s throat. But Tarn felt his cooling fans come to a standstill as the heat in his frame dissipated. 

Tarn couldn’t think of anything worse than making love while listening to the Empyrean Suite.

“Wait,” Tarn stammered.

Deathsaurus raised his head inquisitively. And Tarn remembered that with his mask on, Deathsaurus couldn’t read the horror on his face.

“Don’t you know what I _do_ to this song?”

Deathsaurus blinked, then smirked. “Yes. And the sooner you’ve got something else to think about when you hear your theme song, _other_ than killing me, the _happier_ I’ll be.”

By Unicron. Tarn hadn’t even _thought_ about that. But of course, Deathsaurus’s name had been on the List…had been on it for quite a long time, in fact. 

Most mechanisms on the List tended to reach their expiry dates quickly. But Deathsaurus had lingered, for a number of reasons, primarily the fact that he was still doing the Empire’s work out here on the Rim. Stealing a Warworld could not be _forgiven_ , of course, but the DJD wasn’t about to travel all the way out to the Rim to eliminate him until a suitable replacement had been found to do his job. And competent warlords were in short supply. So Deathsaurus’s name had loitered near the bottom of the List as the eons wore on, always supplanted by traitors who were more dangerous to the Cause, and closer at hand.

What would have happened if Tarn and his Justice Division had made their way to the bottom of the List?

Tarn looked up at his lover and, against his will, imagined. The crest on Deathsaurus’s helm sagging and half-melted from having been shoved face-first into Helex’s smelter. His wings all tattered from Tesarus’s grinder. His optics blown out from Kaon’s electrical bolts. Would he still be smirking then, after all that? Tarn suspected it would have taken Vos’s mask to shut Deathsaurus up.

And then.

And then, Tarn would have leaned forward and whispered in Deathsaurus’s audio. Would Deathsaurus be cringing, by then? Would he be bargaining for a reprieve, or would he be begging Tarn to just end it?

No, Tarn was almost certain that his magnificent subcommander would have told him—via gesture, if his voxcoder and mouth had been silenced—just where he could shove his justice.

And Tarn would have snuffed out that beautiful, noble spark.

Tarn looked up at Deathsaurus now and realized what he would have missed out on if he’d ever gotten down the List far enough to reach his lover’s name. Would he even have _cared_? Likely not, Tarn thought, and felt sickened. One more traitor on the List—that was all he would have known, and all he would have felt the need to know. He would have had no idea of the incredible person Deathsaurus actually was, and then it would have been too late to ever find out.

“Turn it off,” Tarn begged.

Deathsaurus stopped lapping Tarn’s neck and drew back, looking a little disappointed. Tarn had no words. If only Deathsaurus _knew_.

Deathsaurus’s hand rested on Tarn’s chest. “Wow. Real mood killer, hm?”

Tarn felt badly for an entirely different reason, and somewhat embarrassed, though the spectre of Deathsaurus’s intended death still overshadowed his thoughts. Still, it was shameful to let down his lover in this way. “Why don’t you pick something else to play?” Tarn suggested. “Some of your music, perhaps?”

Deathsaurus eyed Tarn skeptically. “I thought you said my music was puerile garbage and that’s when you were being _polite_.”

Deathsaurus’s music _was_ puerile garbage, but right now, Tarn didn’t care. “Just…just put a playlist on and lie next to me.” He realized too late that his words sounded like an order. “Please?”

Deathsaurus smiled. “Okay.”

The playlist he chose was just as awful as Tarn suspected it might be, judging by the first song, but for once he didn’t care that the instrumentalists seemed to only know three chords, or that the drummer was playing too loudly, or that synthesizers were a crime against good taste. Deathsaurus nestled next to him and folded his wing over him, and Tarn ran his hands down the Warworld commander’s chest and felt the soft thrum of his spark.

Still alive.

Here, with him, by choice.

And seemingly accepting of the fact that their fragging session had fallen flat.

Deathsaurus nuzzled Tarn’s neck, and Tarn sighed contentedly, and after a while Tarn noticed that Deathsaurus was licking him again. Not those hot, hungry licks that were a prelude to interface, but tender kisses and inquisitive laps. Tarn dimmed his optics and ran his hand over Deathsaurus’s helm. It felt so good to have Deathsaurus’s warm frame snuggled next to him, in a way that was less intense than interface but possibly more meaningful. 

Tarn cuddled close, enjoying the warmth radiating from his companion’s body. Sometimes he felt as though Messatine’s cold had gotten under his armour and chilled his very spark. In comparison, Deathsaurus was a fire—drawing everyone around him to his warmth and his light. 

_And I’m ice. Cold and relentless._

Tarn reminded himself that fire was just as deadly. He remembered his brief glimpse of Deathsaurus on the battlefield, a blazing brand of fury, quick-tempered and hot-blooded, volatile, dangerous.

Like fire and ice, the two of them could easily have destroyed one another.

Instead, they’d established this mutual rapport. Tarn stroked Deathsaurus’s helm, listening to the thrum of the other mech’s engines, marvelling that their personal dynamic had progressed beyond business and, seemingly, beyond simply the carnal pleasures in life as well. Tarn hadn’t imagined that it would feel so good just to be close to Deathsaurus. Yes, this moment was worth the terrible soundtrack.

Then Deathsaurus _nibbled_.

And Tarn heard his cooling fans click on.

Deathsaurus’s tongue laved the area, cooling the bite, and Tarn relaxed. Still, Deathsaurus could never leave well enough alone. He nibbled again, and Tarn gasped, and Deathsaurus rolled onto his side to kiss the newly tender spot. 

Another song came on, just as tacky as its predecessor. Vulgar and suggestive lyrics set to excessive noise. Before Tarn knew it, Deathsaurus was crouching over him on all fours, licking and tasting his way down Tarn’s chest.

…Going _where_?

Tarn’s mind jumped to an indecent conclusion, which he immediately dismissed as being filthy-minded. He wasn’t an animal. Not everything had to be about base instincts.

Still, Tarn’s fans accelerated in time to the tingling in his valve.

And that awful song was putting carnal thoughts into his mind.

Deathsaurus began to lick a sensitive spot on Tarn’s abdomen in a very distinct pattern—long laps followed by the tip of his tongue tickling a very small area, and back to the long strokes again. Tarn felt his face flush under the mask as he realized what Deathsaurus was doing. That was a pattern Deathsaurus enjoyed using on a _valve_. A pattern which Tarn knew _firsthand_ felt incredible.

Except Deathsaurus was nowhere near Tarn’s valve. He’d settled back on his haunches and seemed more than content to play with Tarn’s tummy as his beak helm scraped tantalizingly over Tarn’s chestplate.

_Now who’s the torturer?_

Tarn shifted uncomfortably. Deathsaurus seemed oblivious, content to stay exactly where he was. The next song began to play from the speakers, and its thunderous drums drowned out the sudden rev of Tarn’s engines.

Tarn had thought the mood had been well and truly killed. Evidently _not_.

But Tarn didn’t know how to even begin to suggest that they reconsider interface. He had been pleasantly surprised that Deathsaurus had been willing to stay without interface to reward him for his time. Tarn didn’t want to be the _pervert_ who ruined their cuddle session.

Except that then the so-called musician singing on the album howled out a lyric that Tarn could barely hear, but he caught the last three words— _eat me up_ —and his valve panel cast an enthusiastic vote of consent, snapping open with a loud click that couldn’t be mistaken for an errant drum beat.

Tarn gasped.

Deathsaurus looked up.

“S…sorry,” Tarn stammered, ashamed at having lost control of his frame.

Deathsaurus grinned, glanced downward, and then looked Tarn in the optics. A smile spread slowly across his lips. “Well now. That looks _tasty_.”

Tarn was too flustered to say anything. Deathsaurus eased himself back, until he had a very good view between Tarn’s thighs. Tarn moaned as Deathsaurus’s talons skimmed ever so lightly over his inner thighs, guiding his legs even farther apart.

Deathsaurus caught Tarn’s gaze again. “May I?” he purred.

 _Well_. If Deathsaurus actually _wanted_ to, Tarn wasn’t going to say no. Particularly as simply saying yes was a lot easier than trying to admit his desires in words.

“Yes,” Tarn murmured.

Deathsaurus dimmed his optics and kissed Tarn’s valve.

Tarn felt his optics dim as Deathsaurus reprised his licking pattern from before, only now it was right where it felt best. Tarn found himself relaxing in comfortable anticipation of what was to come. They had done this often enough before that Tarn knew what would happen. There was something to be said for a familiarity with one’s partner. Tarn didn’t have to worry about controlling Deathsaurus or controlling himself; he knew this tune and knew he would enjoy feeling it play out. He would enjoy it very much.

He was _less_ enamoured with the soundtrack, which, if he’d understood Tesarus right, was something called a _power ballad_. It was slower than the preceding songs but no less gaudy in its musical styling. However, Deathsaurus certainly seemed to like it. Tarn realized that Deathsaurus was actually timing the strokes of his tongue to the music, and be damned if it didn’t feel _amazing_.

Tarn was not going to interrupt Deathsaurus for the sake of the _background music_.

These terrible songs all sounded the same, and so Tarn lost track of time, or just how often Deathsaurus teased him up to the edge of overload and then gently lowered him back down, only to start again as the next song began to play. Tarn pumped his hips in time to the music and Deathsaurus’s tongue flickered against his node in time with the beat of the drums. 

It seemed a long time before Tarn felt the pleasure-stupor fading away from him. His valve was wet and swollen. His node ached for more. His body craved overload, and Deathsaurus was in no hurry.

Tarn dared to speak.

He slid his hand down to fondle his subcommander’s helm. “Take me over,” he murmured, letting Deathsaurus decide whether to interpret his words as request or command.

Deathsaurus glanced up, not the least bit ashamed of Tarn’s fluids smeared all over his cheeks, or the way he ran his tongue over his lips as though he couldn’t stand to be away from the taste of Tarn’s valve for even a few seconds. “Trust me to try something?”

Tarn wanted to say _yes_ , but he still felt guilty over allowing a subordinate so much freedom as it was. “What do you have in mind?” he said instead, recognizing he was deferring his own pleasure even as he spoke.

Deathsaurus tilted his head. “Thought I might try my other mouth.”

“Your other…”

Deathsaurus changed shape.

_Oh._

Tarn kept _forgetting_ how much an _animal_ Deathsaurus looked in this mode. He tried to remind himself that it was _Deathsaurus_ in there, the same person who’d just been giving him oral, but every time he looked at that hooked beak and those short little forelimbs and that long, lashing tail, something in his mind just kept saying _creature, creature_ instead of _person_.

The monster opened its jaws and licked its beak, using the exact same tongue movement as Deathsaurus had a few moments ago.

Tarn decided he was going to have to get over his squeamishness sometime. Deathsaurus didn’t recoil from him when he saw him in tank mode. And he’d already disappointed Deathsaurus once today, what with the whole music thing.

...Also, his valve was strongly protesting the loss of stimulation.

“Would you be insulted,” Tarn murmured softly, “if I dimmed my optics?”

“Nah.” Tarn wasn’t sure how a creature managed to look so inordinately pleased with itself, but somehow Deathsaurus pulled off his familiar self-satisfied expression just as well in his other form. Tarn actually found his subcommander’s smirk comforting instead of irritating. It reminded him that it was definitely his lover’s mind inside that animal body. “You go ahead.”

Tarn had a brief last-minute qualm about trusting Deathsaurus, but he set those worries aside. Deathsaurus had already had plenty of opportunities to attack, if he’d wanted to, and he hadn’t taken them. Tarn turned off his optics and told himself firmly that he was about to get eaten out by his lover, nothing more. He’d done that before and he’d liked it…and his valve was already very eager for a second round. Nothing unusual here.

Deathsaurus’s tongue flickered over Tarn’s anterior node.

Yes. That was _wonderful_. And all he had to do was spread his thighs and enjoy it. 

Deathsaurus’s tongue wrapped around the piercing in his node and tugged, ever so slightly, and Tarn moaned.

Then the tongue slid into his valve.

Oh. So it _wasn’t_ exactly the same. Deathsaurus’s tongue, already indecently long in robot mode, was even _longer_ in creature mode. Long enough to reach all the way up into his valve, tickling each node it came across. It was also _thicker_ , good and thick—not as thick as Deathsaurus’s spike, granted, but Deathsaurus’s spike was notably large. His creature tongue certainly felt as thick as the average spike.

And it plunged in and out of his valve with a dexterity and flexibility that no spike could match.

Tarn curled his hands into claws and dug his fingers into the mattress. Oh, by the Empire, he had not bargained on sensations like these. It was less like having his valve licked out and more like being fucked by Deathsaurus’s tongue, and Tarn….Tarn _loved_ it. 

Tarn dared to light his optics and was taken aback by what he saw. Deathsaurus’s open beak, glinting with razor-sharp serrated teeth, hovering just above his abdomen. Deathsaurus’s tongue buried in his valve. Tarn’s fluids smeared across the beast’s cheeks. 

_Being devoured by an animal._

Tarn was about to tell Deathsaurus to stop—this was just too kinky, bordering on perverse—when the tip of Deathsaurus’s tongue found the port buried deep in his valve and flickered over the sensitive intake normally pierced only by the jack in a spike.

Tarn screamed.

He’d never had an overload so intense. Deathsaurus’s raspy tongue scraped over all his nodes, filling his valve with soft wet heat, playing with his tender jack, while Deathsaurus’s little animal forelimbs held his thighs apart so the beast could eat its fill….

Deathsaurus threw back his animal head and he _laughed_ , the victorious chuckle of a sapient conqueror, and then he resumed licking and licking. Tarn squirmed, and Deathsaurus pinned him down and licked some more until Tarn lay under him, spent, weak, his body trembling from so many overloads, his fans blasting hot air and his armour radiating heat, his valve a stretched and sodden mess.

Deathsaurus transformed and flopped down next to Tarn, stretching a wing over his body and pressing a kiss to his mask.

Tarn bit his lip under the mask, trying very hard not to whimper.

Or to groan when the stereo began blasting yet another horrible example of rock and roll decadence.

Deathsaurus didn’t bother to ask Tarn what he thought of their encounter. Tarn supposed there was no point. His pleasure had likely been obvious. But Tarn was startled when Deathsaurus kissed his mask, at the place where his cheek should be, and murmured, “You’re a delight, do you know?”

 _Him_. The worst life sign of all, as they called him…a _delight_?

Tarn decided that he rather liked having someone—someone who wasn’t Megatron or part of his team—look so happy to see him.

“And you,” Tarn murmured back, sliding a hand under his subcommander’s chin, “are a _handful_. I’m going to have to keep a very close watch on you,” he teased, hoping Deathsaurus would realize that he was joking.

Deathsaurus dimmed his optics and smiled that infuriating grin. “Please _do_.”

#

The next day, Tarn arrived on the bridge of the _Peaceful Tyranny_ for a progress report on the hunt for Megatron. He found Kaon hard at work analyzing data and Tesarus tinkering around on a computer— _maybe_ hacking port mainframes for evidence of the _Lost Light_ ’s passage, or maybe just goofing off, Tarn didn’t know. What Tarn _did_ know was that the music coming out of Tesarus’s speakers was loud enough to be distracting and absolutely _not_ the type of wholesome, inspirational songs that one should be playing during working hours. The current piece sounded like something Deathsaurus would like…all banging drums and wailing guitars and shrieking vocals.

Tarn was on the verge of telling Tesarus to turn it off when his mind received a sudden, urgent ping from his frame.

All of a sudden, Tarn found himself devoting the majority of his processing power just to keeping his valve panel shut.

Tarn staggered, leaning back against the wall. He managed to keep his panel closed, but he couldn’t stop his fans from turning on. Nor could he blot out the deluge of images passing through his mind, each more X-rated than the one before. He swore he could feel Deathsaurus’s tongue stroking his anterior node right _now_ …

“Are you all right?” Kaon inquired.

“Y…yes,” Tarn said, standing back up, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him.

Tesarus startled and turned around. Evidently he’d been so engrossed in whatever was on his screen that he hadn’t even noticed Tarn’s arrival. He looked sheepish now as he turned the volume down on his computer. “Sorry about the music, sir.”

The _music_.

It was one of the same songs that was on Deathsaurus’s playlist. And Tarn remembered, in excruciating detail, _precisely_ what he and Deathsaurus had been doing the last time he heard this song.

Or, more accurately, what Deathsaurus had been doing _to him_.

Tarn manually overrode his fans, but he couldn’t do anything about the deep-seated ache in his valve.

“Never mind that,” Tarn said to Kaon. His own voice sounded tinny and distant. “Carry on.”

“Sir?” Kaon asked, raising an optic ridge suspiciously.

Kaon would not be deterred so easily. “It’s all right,” Tarn said, “I just remembered something else I have to do.”

His internal temperature was rising steadily. His node throbbed, aching to be touched. He could swear his valve was on the verge of dripping, if it wasn’t soiling his panel already.

Tarn quickly stepped out into the hall and activated his comm. “Deathsaurus?”

“Mrgh?” 

He seemed to have caught the Warworld commander waking up from recharge. 

A moment later, Deathsaurus realized who he was speaking to. His voice was much clearer when he spoke again. “Sorry, Tarn. What can I do for you?”

“Are you still in your berth?”

“This is my _sleep cycle_.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t be sleeping, I said _are you still in your berth_.”

“Yes.” A pause. “Why?”

“Two things. First, if you intended to condition me to react a certain way in response to musical cues, _congratulations_ , you were successful. Murdering you is currently the _last_ thing on my mind. Second, I expect you to take _responsibility_ for what you’ve done.”

“What?”

“I’ll be at your door in three minutes. _Be ready_.”

#

 _Well_. Deathsaurus decided to call this one a qualified success.

So maybe he hadn’t managed to get Tarn to stop thinking about murder every time he played the Empyrean Suite.

On the other hand, Deathsaurus was now pleasantly basking in the afterglow of what he hoped was only the first of many such sessions to come. He suspected he would have much less resistance to future requests to choose the evening’s music.

Even if he couldn’t play his favourite playlist in public any more. That had to go into the minus column.

Still, Deathsaurus thought as he admired the sleeping purple frame snuggled in next to him, when all was said and done, he _had_ to consider this a victory.


End file.
